


the art of scraping through

by lovebeyondmeasure



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: A plot has appeared and i hope you like suffering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gun Violence, Inej is a pirate who saves people and kills slavers, Inej's crew is mostly women bc I believe in having nice things, Kaz Brekker is a Complete Disaster, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Pining, Pirates, Post-Canon, Post-Crooked Kingdom, They're BOTH pining I cannot handle this it's too much pining!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-05 23:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovebeyondmeasure/pseuds/lovebeyondmeasure
Summary: Kaz feels her like an ache in his chest, like a coal shimmering heavy in his lungs; he has no words for her. Only these small moments, too few, too far between, and his heart, a burnt offering on the altar of his quiet devotion. He wishes he had more to give.Kaz Brekker pines for Inej, and it's one of the most human things about him.Inej sails an ocean as free and wild and endless as her soul, but her heart has a compass and it points back the way she came. She will take what he has to give, and demand more, as she is worth.Inej Ghafa grows into a whole person, and she will not be denied.





	1. you should never know how easy you are to need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mollivanders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/gifts).



> Dedicated to mollivanders, aka ladytharen, with whom I have never interacted but whose liveblogging of "Crooked Kingdom" hacked open the box in my chest labeled “emotions about beautiful dangerous women and the broken men who love them." Thank you for exposing all those soft squishy feelings to the light of Fic Inspiration. I hope you enjoy this.
> 
> Attempting to update regularly. Fic and chapter titles from various Hozier songs. Why? My friend, if you've never listened to "Like Real People Do" or "To Be Alone" in the context of Kanej, you should do so right this minute. Really, any Hozier song, though. _Trust me on this._
> 
> Find me anytime @ lovebeyondmeasure.tumblr.com (reblog this fic [here](http://lovebeyondmeasure.tumblr.com/post/165780685409/))

Inej had sailed away, and Kaz had smiled his best Bastard smile and wished her well. Wished her blood and fair winds. She had returned to him her smile, sharp as her knives, and promised to bring him riches.

“I only wish you safely back to me,” he’d almost said, the words crowding up in his throat, but he had leaned on his cane in the salt-sweet sun and hadn’t waved, had only held her eyes as the tide swept her away.

Now, weeks later, he stared out his window and wondered how he was supposed to operate without her. Inej had become more necessary to him than he’d thought possible. It was as though he was missing a hand, and kept reaching for tasks before realizing he lacked all he needed to complete them.

He hadn't realized how much he relied on her. Not to keep him from going too far, because they both knew there was no such thing for him. But she pulled him back. Every time, she pulled him back. The others left to him, they mostly urged him on; only the memory of Inej’s eyes, full of scorn, kept him from the worst of himself. However much humanity still lasted within him, Kaz knew, it was covered in Inej’s fingerprints.

He walked to the harbor, letting the sea wash clean his stale brain. He breathed deeply, imagining Inej on her ship, her knives bright with slaver’s blood, breathing the same air. He imagined her laughing, skin darkened by the sun, hair loose in the wind. He imagined her sailing back. Sailing home. To him.

He gave a rusty bark of laughter. How could he even imagine such a thing? She said she would have him bare, without armor. But who would he be without it? He had grown within it, into its shape; he was the Bastard of the Barrel. Who else could he be?

 _Anyone, for her._ The little voice whispered. He could be anyone if only she would come back to him. If she would laugh for him. He could be anyone for Inej.

The sea breeze ruffled his hair, and Kaz stared out, past the ships in the harbor, past the rocky islands, into the wide horizon.

Come back to me, Inej, and I will change, he vowed to the setting sun. Come back to me, and I will do my best for you. I will try. I swear it.


	2. the first cringe of morning, and my heart's already sinned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By any measure he’d ever cared about, it had been a very successful night. But his eyes kept sliding to the window, and it remained empty.

It had been a successful night.

Between the various ventures of the Dregs, some slightly more legal than others, they’d pulled in a cool profit. Kaz hunched over his desk, tallying it all up, and as more Crows slipped in with their reports, the total kept growing.

By any measure he’d ever cared about, it had been a very successful night. But his eyes kept sliding to the window, and it remained empty. Only the remote glimmer of the stars daring enough to break through the haze over Ketterdam winked back at him. Kaz knew he was being irrational, but he kept looking, anyway.

When the dawn began to break faintly over the city, slipping its oily fingers through cracks in curtains, Kaz decided he was done for the night. He left instructions with lieutenants for his plans for the Crows for the day and limped carefully up the stairs. 

He knew that Inej wouldn’t be there, he knew that. But it didn’t stop him from glancing around, as though the faint shadow of her passing would still be visible, as though he might catch the flick of her hair or the echo of a sigh. This room held memories, some of the few Kaz cared to recall, and he held his breath as though they might shatter.

Yes, it had been a successful night. But running the numbers through didn’t sooth him like they had before, though the numbers were much higher than they had been. He kept waiting for a rustle at the window, a footstep at the door. And it was silent but for the ever-present bustle of the Barrel, the croaking laughter of the crows Inej had fed. They nested, now, around the building, and passers-by would mutter about the crows, always watching, the Crows, don’t cross them. But now they were only one more reminder, their laughter mocking, their oily black wings like her hair in the wind.

Kaz lay restlessly in his bed, the day breaking over the city, and knew that sleep was for men who felt secure in their beds. And the only security he knew was in a set of honed knives outside his window, knives that were an ocean away.

He stared at a shaft of sunlight scraping across the ceiling. Come back, he almost whispered. I promised the setting sun I would change for you. But I can’t do that if you don’t _come back._

The sun had no reply for him, but perhaps it had mercy, for he faded into a sleep in which he felt the caress of callused hands on his face and he did not flinch away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, less than 24 hours later? Please don't expect such things too often, but know that the outpouring of love and support for this fic inspired me. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Here, have some more pining.


	3. I turned and ran to save a life I didn't have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inej lay back against the mast and let her thoughts unspool into the wind. Who was she now?
> 
>  
> 
> _Inej carries her own burdens, out in the midst of an endless ocean._

Inej let the wind tease her hair out of its braid, a blazing black banner in the piercing sunlight. She was perched at the top of the tallest mast, relaxing without a single eye on her for once.

It seemed to her that she had never been so happy in her life, and at the same time, she had never been so hemmed in. Not bound, as she had been in the Menagerie; she was no slave. No, she was free, like the crying gulls and the dancing waves. But she was unused to the limits of a ship, nowhere to go to be alone. It was possible to be far more alone in Ketterdam, with its mad crush of humanity, than it was on this lone ship in the center of the endless sea.

And Inej was so happy, here with her parents, with her mission. She had watched a shipful of slavers die, had watched others swear to her service, take her tattoos, to serve under her watchful eyes. She had watched the people who had once been captured turn their faces to the sun with wonder, with a soaring unblemished freedom that she did not begrudge them. She had given them her own crew, those who had joined for this purpose only: to take the slaver ship, to take the people home, to become crusaders of their own. She had watched them become smaller on the horizon, on their own journeys, and had known her own joy, bubbling up like champagne in her throat.

And at the same time she did not know how to explain the grief in her father’s eyes when he watched her kill the captain of the slave ship, the man’s body hitting the deck with grim finality, blood spattered unflinchingly across her face. Inej thought that perhaps her father’s dream of her, the one he had carried in her long absence, had died in that moment as well, had echoed in that fall. She was not his sweet child, a ropedancer with a laugh as genuine as sunlight. She was the Wraith, now, in her blood, in her bones. She carried her parents in her heart, but there too was the skyline of Ketterdam, the family she had found there: Nina, Jesper, Wylan. Kaz.

Inej lay back against the mast and let her thoughts unspool into the wind. Who was she now? Still her father’s daughter. Still her mother’s child. But she was no longer that dancing girl, and it was not their fault, but they did not know what to do with her now. And she loved them, and they loved her, but it was a tentative thing, new again as if she had just been born. And maybe, in some ways, she had.

It was as though all her dreams had come true, to be held safe in her mother’s arms, to kiss her father’s cheek. To hear their voices, their stories. To eat the food of her childhood, to hear her name pronounced correctly. It was infinitely right. But other moments- when she sharpened her knives on the deck, and her mother saw how many she had and where they were hidden; when she killed the slavers who would not give over; when she spoke a proverb and her father quietly corrected her, for she’d gotten the wording wrong. These moments were like she’d taken the wrong step on the wire. It was as though she was caught between the girl she’d been and the woman she’d been becoming, back in Ketterdam, back with the Crows. Back with Kaz. 

Her parents had met Kaz and had liked him, in their ways. Her father spoke of his firm handshake, his steady gaze, and Inej did not know how to tell him that Kaz had learned such things to fool decent men. Her mother spoke of the way he looked at her, the way he had found them for her, as though he loved her full and honest and pure; she did not know how to say that they had held hands, once; that he had nearly kissed her neck, once. Their love was none of those things, full or honest or pure; he was Dirtyhands and she his Wraith. They were no shining couple from the stories her mother had told over the fire. But she did not have the words for this.

So she and her parents relearned each other, and she showed them in glimpses who she had grown to be. She would sail with them, and free more people, and become a story indeed; not a story her mother would tell, but one whispered around slaver’s taverns, a ghost who haunted those who might see people as chattel, as things to be bought and sold. And she would thrive, knives sharp, cannons thunderous; she would be happy. She would. 

“You gave me this, Kaz,” she said out loud, letting the ocean wind carry her words away. “You have given me this, and I do not know how to repay you.”

They had taken the money and tradegoods from the slaver’s ship, and she would bring it back to him. It was poor recompense for this, the fullness of the life he’d given her. But she would give it to him anyway. And perhaps… perhaps he would give her his hand. And they could try again.

The wind whipped her hair into her face, and Inej sputtered. The sun dipped towards the horizon, and she knew her mother would be cooking a Suli meal, as she did every night, for her wayward daughter and the love they were growing between them. As she slipped silently to the deck below, back into the company of people, back to become a person, Inej looked to the sun, and wondered if Kaz thought of her too. If he looked for her on the horizon.

“I’ll be back, Kaz,” she said as her feet kissed the deck. “I’ll come back to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said to not expect updates this quickly.... but here I am, I've been possessed by these two. Inej demanded her say. So here's a thousand words of Inej's inner life post-CK, and know that she will, indeed, be back.


	4. her eyes and words are so icy (oh but she burns)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did he say who it was from?” Kaz asked, accepting the slim missive. He knew, or perhaps he hoped, a curious unfurling in his chest like a flower blooming from a withered vine. 
> 
>  
> 
> _It's barely a letter, but it's more than Kaz had dared to hope for._

One of the newer Crows knocked carefully on the doorpost; Kaz looked up and nodded him in. Skinny, dark haired, assigned near the wharf— what was his name— 

“What is it, Etro?”

Etro nodded respectfully. “Message for you, from the captain of a ship. Said I was to deliver it to you and only you, as per his instructions. On pain of a very sharp and slow death, he said.” He seemed pleased to have remembered it all, and pulled a rather weathered envelope from an inner pocket.

“Did he say who it was from?” Kaz asked, accepting the slim missive. He knew, or perhaps he hoped, a curious unfurling in his chest like a flower blooming from a withered vine. 

“No, but he said you’d be knowing,” Etro said. He glanced towards the door.

“Good job, Etro. Dismissed.” The boy nodded once, gratefully, as he slipped away. Kaz made a note to watch that one as he pulled out the slip of blade he kept for such needs. He knew, he knew, and yet he was afraid to know; and yes.

It was coded, of course it was coded, it looked like so much gibberish on the page. Kaz smiled, a soft and open thing, looking at these words. They were unlocked by a Suli proverb she had quoted to him, eyes dancing and alive, on the docks: “Better to die of laughter than of fear, Kaz,” she’d said, eyes on the horizon.

“Will you laugh, then?” he’d asked. “When you’re killing the slavers, will you laugh?” He could almost imagine it, her slim form standing over their bodies, knives dripping, head thrown back. The ghost of her laughter rang in his ears, a sound he could never forget, would never wish to forget.

She had turned her dark eyes to him, then, and he could almost feel them still.

“I will not laugh at their deaths,” she said. “I will laugh at the folly of men who see people as things, for they will learn the error of their ways. And I will laugh to be the hand that teaches them such lessons.” She twitched her hand, letting the barest glint of Sankt Petyr wink at him.

He’d had nothing to say to her, the solemnity of her face, the knowledge that she could wield seven types of death and he would kiss her if he dared, if he could.

“I will laugh,” she’d said. “I will die of laughter before I ever die of fear.”

“And so you should,” he’d said, turning to look at the ship, to break the burn of her eyes. Her laughter, that sweetest of songs, might be his death as well.

And the message unlocked by that memory was short, as Inej often was:

_All’s well. First ship captured, sent on its way. Blood and fair winds have been mine. Send regards to my enemies and friends. Will return when convenient. Thank you. Your Wraith._

And Kaz found himself leaning back in his chair, breathing heavily. The words swam before him, branding themselves into his eyes, his heart.

_Thank you. Your Wraith._

_Your Wraith._

_Your Wraith._

_Will return when convenient._

_Your Wraith._

Kaz read the message over and over, turning the words over like a hard candy in his mouth. _Blood and fair winds have been mine. Your Wraith. Will return when convenient. Your Wraith._

_Thank you. Your Wraith._

A tap at the door, which Etro had intelligently closed behind him. Another point in his favor. Kaz hastily folded the note, slipping it into a clever pocket in the breast of his coat, and pulled himself together.

Sit up straight. Calm your breathing. Steady hands. Steady eyes.

“Enter,” he said, as though he hadn’t just been having a moment of rapture over a scrap of a message, barely even a letter. As though he was a confident, unshakeable leader, not a fool who collapsed over a single sign of hope. 

And as Kaz rose to deal with the problems laid before him, he certainly didn’t brush a hand over the hidden pocket to remind himself that Inej’s message was still there. That she’d thought of him enough to write to him. That she’d thought of him at all.

_Your Wraith._

He shook his head and got on with his business. 

_Thank you._

Your Wraith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proverb borrowed shamelessly and with thanks from Jewish tradition. Further updates coming soon. If anyone has requests for these two fools, don't hesitate to share.


	5. all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are we not pirates, then? Stealing freedom away from slavers?”
> 
> _A slaver ship is on the horizon, and a fire is singing in Inej's blood._

The lookout had spotted a ship, and it looked to be flying slaver’s colors. Inej had instructed that _The Wraith_ was to fly neutral colors, merchant colors; such ships were not unheard of, making contact in the middle of the waves to sell food and goods to ships long at sea. Crewed mainly by women, they would seem no threat, not until it was too late for the slavers.

Inej was out for blood, and it was as though the whole crew was infected by her vicious joy. She had been restless for the past week, ever since she’d written to Kaz at the last port they’d made. The letter had taken her days to compose, in the privacy of her own head, where no one would know how many times she wrote that she missed him, that she hoped he was well, that… no matter. No one would know. 

She’d coded it with one of their oldest ciphers, knowing he would remember their conversation on the docks. They always used a Suli saying as the key phrase; it would take a great mind indeed to pick out which of the hundreds it was, much less how to spell it to make the message make sense. She’d carefully scribed her message, handing it to the captain of a ship bound for Ketterdam personally. She’d made sure it would reach him with gold and threats; Kaz would be proud.

She hoped he’d understood all she’d tried to say. But not knowing made her itchy, as though her skin was too tight; she threw herself into the work of the crew with a will, trying to stop turning it over in her mind. The crew seemed pleased that their captain worked alongside them; being mostly women, she felt safer than she’d expected to, in the midst of near-strangers. Her first mate, a tall, commanding woman named Rietha with dark skin and hair in many small braids wrapped around her head, took change of the ship for the daily workings, and Inej’s trust in her was returned hundredfold. 

The women, and few men, of her crew looked to Inej, though, when the sails were sighted. They knew she was ready for blood, and so were they. Mostly former slaves themselves, they too carried their own missions and vendettas. And as they rushed to prepare the cannons, to strap on guns and swords, Inej felt their unholy glee in the bloodshed to come rushing in her own veins.

When the last of the non-combatants were safely tucked away belowdecks, Rietha and the other officers, Jibon and Zerdali, reported to Inej. She had donned her captain’s outfit, unsuited to her daily life but perfect for counterfeiting a girl who did not understand her own command. The women glanced at each other with eyes alight.

“Captain,” Zerdali said, “the lookout reports the ship should hold at least 300. The crew looks to be a Ketterdam mash of men, all sorts. The captain’s big and blonde.”

Inej felt a pang, thinking of Matthais, and hoped the captain would have nothing else in common with her lost friend. 

Zerdali continued, “We can match her gun for gun, but their crew is probably larger. You’ll want to bring them over to our cause sooner rather than later.”

Inej nodded, thinking over her strategy while Rietha sorted out the gun crew and the boarding crew.

“No, I want to take Clarine aboard,” she broke in, ear catching on the name. “If she’s to take the ship, she needs to establish herself immediately. She can’t come over later, she needs to be part of my boarding party.”

Rietha gave her a nod of respect, and rearranged the groups accordingly. The other ship was fast approaching; its name was just coming legible, the _Ocean’s Pearl_. Inej felt her lip curl to see such a sweet name on ship with such foul purpose.

Rietha, Jibon and Zerdali turned to her, and Inej accepted their plans. These women had hearts as full and furious as her own, and Inej knew they would do everything in their power to bring down this ship, as would every member of her crew.

“Today, we will taste blood,” Inej said. “But more than that, we will taste freedom, and share it with as many as we can. Kill no one who does not offer violence to us, and take all that can be taken.”

“Are we not pirates, then? Stealing freedom away from slavers?” Jibon asked.

The women shared a smile, sharp as knives, sharp as liberty.

The _Ocean’s Pearl_ was ever-closer; Inej felt the impending conflict like a singing fire in her blood.

“One man?” she asked them.

“One bullet,” they replied.

Inej turned to the crew, who had assembled on the deck to be sent to their posts.

“One man?” she cried out, fierce as a hawk.

“One bullet!” the cheer rose, and she could see it on the faces of every woman and man in her crew, that same fire burning. Even those men taken from the last slaver ship, three weeks ago, had learned to embrace this mission, this vengeance.

“Aim true!” Inej cried out to her crew. Rietha, Zerdali and Jibon went from her side to divide the crew to their battle stations, and Inej turned to face the approaching ship.

 _I will have vengeance,_ she thought. _And there will be freedom, this day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: a battle at sea! Coming soon, soon soon.
> 
> Your support for this story is, as ever, balm for my weary soul. Fear not, gentle readers; there is much, much more to come. There's a plot, now, when I wasn't expecting one, so we're all gonna suffer together, okay?
> 
> Also, I hope you enjoy my OCs as much as I do. The crew of _The Wraith_ are my favorite people in the world right now. They will be featuring heavily in upcoming chapters. Their rallying cry of "One man, one bullet," is stolen from _Mad Max: Fury Road_ and the Vulvalini, whom I love and adore. It seemed like a good fit for a mostly-female crew fighting the commodification of human lives.
> 
> You can always find me, for yelling, compliments, complaints, suggestions, and etcetera, @ lovebeyondmeasure.tumblr.com


	6. she demands a sacrifice; drain the whole sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s certainly something to see a crew so very full of women,” the captain said. Inej knew he’d said his name, but it hadn’t stuck in her mind, and now it was too late to ask again. She’d like to know his name before he died.
> 
>  
> 
> _The Wraith meets a shipful of slavers. Things mostly go according to plan._

The initial engagement had gone to plan- the captain of the _Ocean’s Pearl_ had bought Inej’s pretty story about being a merch girl who’d been gifted a captaincy by a wealthy uncle, and allowed herself and a few, select crewmembers aboard his ship. His crew, a motley assortment of men indeed, had seemed particularly eager for the fresh foods Inej had taken aboard at their last port. 

The women displaying the foodstuffs and other wares were pretty, but not overly so, and all were proficient with the guns and knives carefully concealed on their bodies. They were carefully gathering information about the ship, the crew, as they chatted and bartered and flirted.

“So, Captain Doutzen,” the captain said to Inej. “How has your voyage been thus far?”

Inej found herself playing a part she was in many ways unsuited for, and pushed the lies through her mouth like taffy, twisting her voice into her best upper-class Ketterdam accent.

“Oh, smooth sailing, Captain,” she said, letting her eyes stay wide. “My first mate, Minter, has dealt with my crew splendidly, I must say. Not all men can handle so many women, you see.”

The captain, who was indeed big and blond, chuckled a little at Inej’s seemingly unmeant double entendre. She hoped her ruse would hold for just a few minutes longer, as her crew completed their preparations. She could hear the faint sounds of suffering beneath her feet, and it was making her nauseous. 

“It’s certainly something to see a crew so very full of women,” the captain said. Inej knew he’d said his name, but it hadn’t stuck in her mind, and now it was too late to ask again. She’d like to know his name before he died. “Does your uncle have a reason for sending you out so…. undefended?”

Inej let not a flicker of her growing disgust touch her face, keeping her sweetly unassuming expression fixed firmly on. “Oh, Uncle Sem thought having women would be safer for me, seeing as how I’m a woman. There are enough men with us to keep us safe, I’m sure.”

She was satisfied to see the growing greed in the captain’s eyes. If he made the first move of aggression, it would be easier to turn more of his crew. So many men, even terrible ones, flinched from the sight of a man striking an unarmed woman, so long as she spoke and dressed correctly. 

“Would you care for refreshment? I’m sure you must be tired of watching my men buy your lovely wares,” the captain offered, attempting to sound gallant and sounding only lecherous, clearly uncaring about the wife his ring indicated he had. Inej turned her big eyes to him once more, wishing he didn’t remind her quite so much of Matthais. His voice was from Ketterdam, but his face was Fjerdan, sure enough.

“Oh, thank you, sir, but I must decline,” she replied. “I must stay in view of Minter at all times, you see.” She nodded to the man standing on the deck of her ship, and he nodded back. She’d chosen Minter for this role because he looked quite intimidating, but would not be much help in combat, due to his bad leg. He counterfeited a vigilant first mate exceedingly well, however.

The captain, now clearly believing he had the upper hand, began to shift closer to Inej.

“Well, Captain Doutzen,” he said calmly, “I’m so glad you came to do business with my ship. However, I’m afraid you won’t be leaving.”

Inej held her mask of confusion on only so long as it took him to try to grab her, his pistol already drawn. The moment his hand met her shoulder, however, her face melted into its accustomed fierce expression, and he began to falter.

“What-” 

He managed no more before Inej twisted sharply, knowing Rietha was watching, her knives sliding cleanly from their sheathes. 

It was begun before the men on deck even knew what was happening; Rietha’s voice rang out clearly, and suddenly the women on deck turned from sweet merch girls into furies, guns drawn and cocked. The crew was shocked into silence.

In the time this took, Inej had wrenched the captain around, disarming him, trapping his arm tight behind his back and standing firmly with a knife to his throat. The crew’s eyes turned collectively to them as the captain swore. She tossed her head, letting her hat fall and her hair hang free to blow in the breeze.

“I am the Wraith, and I am here to collect Death’s due!” she cried out. Some of the men froze, reaching for weapons, as more women and a few men swarmed over from the other ship to surround them. They were not outnumbered, but they were certainly outgunned. As Zerdali led a contingent into the ship itself, Inej hoped that most of the crew was already on the deck. It would simplify things.

“Death has sent me for this man,” she said into the silence, twisting the captain’s arm a little tighter, drawing more curses from his lips. “Death has sent me for any man here who wishes to uphold this man’s claim on human lives.”

The captain was struggling in earnest now, and Inej knew the edge of her knife was drawing blood as he frothed and spit. “How dare you! How dare any woman touch me so, I am Captain Paavo Randrup and I will not be bested by a slip of a girl! Face me like a captain!”

Ah, that was his name.

“Captain Paavo Randrup, for your crimes against the will of the gods, I have been sent to claim your death,” she said ringingly. “For your willingness to trade in human flesh, you have been condemned. Have you anything to say?”

Not a soul breathed. Below them, gunshots.

“Fight me like a man!” he bellowed. “I will not die on my knees!”

“Yes, you will,” Inej said softly into his ear. Her knife flashed once in the golden afternoon sunlight, and Paavo was gurgling his death throes on the deck of a ship already drenched in blood.

“I am Captain Inej Ghafa of the _Wraith_! I will spare any man willing to take my tattoos and swear to my banner!” She hoped Cyrilla had hoisted their colors already. A gust of wind swept the deck, sending the sails flapping, and Inej saw her banner snapping proudly in the air. She thought, fleetingly, that even Kaz couldn’t have engineered a more perfect moment.

Inej looked down at the men on the deck. None had moved. Another gunshot rang out belowdecks, and the muffled sound of screaming that ended abruptly.

If, as she suspected, Captain Randrup had ruled through fear and only the promise of money at the end of a long, painful voyage, the crew would have little loyalty to him. The men were glancing around- at her; at her crew, their guns steady and eyes fierce; at their shipmates. One man moved suddenly.

“The captain’s dead!” He drew out a gun, pointing it over the still body of Paavo Randrup at Inej. She did not flinch, and not even a second later a gunshot split the air, and the man was laying on the deck, his scowl still on his face, a clean hole between his eyes. Ludne gestured her gun, as if to say, _anyone else?_

Inej raised her hands openly. “If anyone else would like to join your captain, he is free to do so. Or he may remain crew on this ship under the command of Captain Clarine, and collect his wage at the end, and be a free man.”

She smiled, and her smile tasted of death, of freedom. “The choice is yours, men. But this ship is a slave ship no more.”

She turned away from the assembled crew, a gesture of absolute confidence. She knew that they had no chance to attack her, and she showed it. The crew of the _Ocean’s Pearl_ began muttering, tightening into knots of frantically gesturing men, no longer one group but many. Divide and conquer, Inej thought idly. Her crew who had gone belowdecks returned, pushing three more men before them. They scrambled to join the rest of their crew.

“All clear, Captain!” Zerdali reported, her eyes glittering. “There were a few who protested, but we took care of them.” Behind her, Gailya’s grin dripped with blood.

One group of men, the largest, turned towards Inej on the quarterdeck and came to a kind of ragged attention.

“Captain Ghafa?” one man, who seemed to be the spokesman, said. “We’ll take your offer. We’ll stay and crew this ship wherever the new captain wants to go.”

Another man, in another group, shouted in agreement. “I ain’t swimming against the tides! We’ll be free to go after this voyage?”

“If you stay with the _Pearl_ , yes, you’ll be free to go or stay as Captain Clarine chooses to hire you back, and you’ll be paid your fair wage,” Inej said, a glow of satisfaction suffusing her body. She felt buoyant, weightless. So few lives lost, so many lives gained. “If any of you wish to join my crew aboard the _Wraith_ , you must take my tattoos and swear to me, to fight at my side and let no man, woman or child remain in chains.”

A man, standing with a much smaller group, all of them tense, called out, “What if we don’t like those choices? Women ain’t supposed to be captains! T’ain’t right.” The men with him nodded.

“If you don’t like my choices, gentlemen, you may join your captain,” Inej said, letting Fjerdan winter fill her voice. _The water hears and remembers. The ice does not forgive._ “There is no room aboard either ship now for those who wish to keep to the old ways. People are not things.”

That knot of men looked sullen but subsided. Inej knew Clarine would deal with them as she saw fit; over 30 and with a crooked nose, a smooth white scar bisecting her cheek, and a ladder of tattoos, Clarine has survived worse men than these. She would know how to deal with them.

“You have until sunset to make your choices!” Inej called out, turning away from the crew. The muttering resumed. Inej hoped a few would elect to join her, so she could send more trustworthy crew with the _Pearl_.

Zerdali and Rietha had joined her on the quarterdeck, and both looked pleased. 

“Didn’t need to fire a single cannon,” Rietha said. “No damage to either ship. This was nicely handled, captain. Well done indeed.”

Inej was surprised to feel so pleased at the praise. “Thank you, Rietha,” she said. “I didn’t expect him to accept my story so easily, but some days, the gods smile on us.”

Zerdali was about to report on the people who were even then being freed belowdecks when a great howl tore the air. The door to the captain’s suite was flung open, and out ran a tall blonde woman holding a blunderbuss.

“Paavo! What has she done to you!” the woman screamed through tears, and Inej looked at Rietha and Zerdali in confusion. Her crew was slow to react, surprised by the appearance of a strange woman on this ship.

“Missus Randrup!” one of the men exclaimed in horror, and it dawned on Inej that the captain had been wearing a ring. Stupid, she thought, no man on a ship would wear a ring unless he had good reason, and what better reason than the presence of his wife? Stupid, stupid-

And her thoughts were cut short by the thunder of the blunderbuss, pointed right at her, and she had only time to think, once more, _stupid-_

before she stopped thinking about anything but the pain, looking down to see her perfect, unworn captain’s outfit turning red, red, red, or was that her vision?

Inej could see, through a growing haze, the captain’s wife hitting the deck, another of Ludne’s perfect holes in her forehead, _a match for her husband’s_ , Inej thought indistinctly, as she slipped into-

a gentle sort of-

darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen: I'm so, so sorry. Let me know if you'd rather hear from Kaz again next or if you want more about Inej. (I promise: she's not dead, I'm not a demon. The new tags include "angst with a happy ending" and I'm sticking to that.)
> 
> This chapter nearly doubled the fic! I can't promise updates this big all the time, but I didn't want to break it up, either.
> 
> Next update will hopefully come before the weekend, but I'm out of town from Friday to Monday, so please be patient. There will be much more soon enough.


	7. I keep catching little words but the meaning's thin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inej felt herself become weightless suddenly, and thought perhaps her dreams of becoming a bird were at last coming true.
> 
> _In the aftermath of a bloody surprise, new leaders must take up the reins._

Inej became aware, in a drifting and shifting way, of the rock of the ship beneath her. There were frantic voices above her, but the only real thing seemed to be the press of the planks beneath her back, the grain of the wood her hand laid upon. She focused on that, just feeling the whorls in the deck with one hand, and let it pull her out from the red mist her brain seemed to be filled with.

“I cannot- I do not have the skills,” a young, desperate voice was saying. “I can keep her alive, but I cannot fix- there is too much damage for me, I am only an apprentice, I do not have the skills-”

And her mother’s voice, thrown like a knife, tight like a fist, “Then do it, whatever you can, I will not lose my daughter now, not again, not like this, my little Inej-”

And her mother was there, holding her hand, as the young grisha began to knit together what was left of Inej’s body. She couldn’t quite open her eyes yet, but she was in the foggy half-aware state that told her that her mind was trying to shield her against what her body was feeling.

“Mama?” she tried to say, only her tongue was heavy in her mouth. She coughed, and her body’s messages got through in that moment, and she held very still. “Mama?”

“Oh, baby, yes, I’m here, I’m here, Dazh will heal you, you'll be fine, you’re going to be fine my darling, my Inezka-” and her mother’s grip was so tight, but Inej could only try to smile.

“Of course, Mama.” She coughed again, and heard Dazh curse. Her mother’s voice was a litany, prayer and saint, and her name, over and over. She couldn’t get the air to tell her mother that she would indeed be fine, that the pain was even now fading. Dazh must be very good for an apprentice, it barely even…

hurt…

at all…..

==========

The men of the _Pearl_ were edgy, skittish, sure they were about to be punished for what had befallen the captain. She who had done this laid dead on the deck where she’d fallen; she would have to be moved, and her husband, and the man who’d resisted, and-

Rietha, wild-eyed, felt as though she couldn’t breathe; things had been going too well, and she’d been complacent. She hadn’t ordered the quarters swept, she hadn’t thought to ask if the whole crew was present, or to find out the chain of command, or-

A hand grabbed Rietha’s elbow. “What do we do?” asked Jibon, in a low and firm tone. “You are first mate. You must take charge. Captain Ghafa will live. We must look to the crew. What do we do?”

Rietha looked deep into Jibon’s eyes- green, she thought obliquely, as the sea at sunrise- and saw only certainty that she, Rietha, would take charge. She nodded to the shorter woman, and heaved a deep breath.

“We must secure the _Pearl_ , and bring Captain Ghafa to the _Wraith_ ,” she said. “If there’s a healer on this ship, they must be found. Compare the crew to the roster, make sure everyone is present and accounted for. _Pearl_ crew must be guarded, no more than five men to every Wraith. Furl sails. Send some crew down to account for the former slaves. Have Vashi and Conreed begin preparing the evening meal. Ah,” Rietha had run out of things for people to do. “Find me Reth and Odolf.” 

Jibon nodded and turned away. “Jibon?” Rietha felt as though her voice was coming up from a deep well. “Thank you.”

Jibon smiled, her teeth flashing white against her golden skin. “We must keep moving, yes? No time to freeze like rabbits to slaughter. Our captain expects as much from us, and we must not fail her.”

Rietha returned the smile. “One man?”

“One bullet,” Jibon agreed, and darted off to see Rietha’s orders carried out. 

==========

Dazh was far beyond his depths, and he knew it. Inej’s body was pocked with holes, many of her major organs damaged, some bones broken. A single gash on her face bled sluggishly, dripping down her cheekbone. Her once-fine clothing was soaked with blood.

He focused on pulling the shot from her body, and closing the holes as he went. He could do no more, not without exhausting himself. _An exhausted healer does no one good_ , his first master’s voice whispered in his ear. _Do what you can with what you have, no more._

“She needs blood,” he managed to say, meeting the eyes of the Captain’s mother. Mama Ghafa stared back, her eyes big and liquid dark in her drawn face. She nodded. 

“I have seen this done,” she said. “You will link me to her, yes, and I will give her my blood. I am her mother. It will not be the first time she has drawn her life from me.”

Dazh, already tired from the mere act of keeping the Captain from bleeding out here on the deck of a dead slaver’s ship, nodded gratefully. Yes, she understood. They could do this. The Captain would live. He would make it so. He _would._

He turned to the next wound. 

==========

Reth and Odolf arrived at Rietha’s side as she arranged Wraiths to watch over the Pearl crew. Most of the men were sitting, now, in small groups by the rail. Some were praying, for themselves or for Captain Ghafa she didn’t know. She knew that they knew that if her Captain died, many of them would never live to see another day.

Reth, the taller of the two, bowed slightly. “We have the stretcher.”

Odolf held it aloft, a strange arrangement of beams and cloth that Dazh had overseen the making of. 

The three strode to where the Captain still lay on the deck, looking far too pale. Her head was cradled in her mother’s lap, and Mama Ghafa was crooning a song, softly. Dazh looked up from his seat on the deck, and shook his head, knowing their plan without words.

“We cannot bring her back to the _Wraith_. She is too delicate. Her wounds are many and will break open if she’s shifted too much. I’ve done my best, but-”

Rietha waved her hand, stretching her mouth into an impression of a smile. “You are not a miracle worker, Dazh, only an apprentice. She had not bled out, and that is due to your skill. What should we do, then?”

He looked frightened, a little boy playing at being a man. Rietha crouched, bringing herself down to his level. “You are doing your best, as are we all,” she said. “No one blames you for not fixing her back instantly.”

He sighed down into the deck, then turned to the men with something resembling confidence. “Have the captain’s quarters on this ship been cleared?”

Rietha knew Gailya had gone in, but had not yet come out. “Reth, go see if Gailya’s done.” He took himself off with haste.

“If we can- ah- shift her to the stretcher, we might be able to move her,” Rietha said. Dazh shook his head, a negative.

“Slide it beneath her where she is. It will disturb her less.”

She and Odolf took to this task, working around Mama Ghafa, who spared them barely a glance. Rietha wondered for a bare second where Papa Ghafa might be.

“Quarters are clear,” Reth reported as Rietha laid down Inej’s lifeless body on the stretcher. His voice sounded odd; she looked up and saw why. Gailya was cradling a baby, and Reth held a blonde toddler in his arms. The tyke was sleeping, and the baby fretful. Rietha stared at them without comprehension for a long moment.

==========

Inej felt herself become weightless suddenly, and thought perhaps her dreams of becoming a bird were at last coming true.

“Mama?” she rasped. Her hand was clasped tight.

“I’m here, Inezka,” her mother said, her voice echoing as if from far away.

“Am I flying?”

“No, my darling,” her mother’s voice said, as if through tears.

“Oh,” Inej’s brow furrowed minutely. “Are we going home now?”

“Home? My darling, the caravans are far from here.”

“No, Mama,” Inej said, as the darkness slipped up, up up, to cradle her from the pain of her body’s descent. “Home to Ketterdam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say my OC crewmembers would become more important, didn't I? I hope you like them so far! Feel free to ask me about any of them, let me know if you have favorites, etc. And yes, Inej wants to go home to Ketterdam. I know, I'm dying too.
> 
> Next chapter we'll see what Kaz has been up to. That'll be up either tomorrow or next Tuesday, depending. Thank you all for the kudos, comments, reblogs, and love. It fuels the production of this world.


	8. no more alone or myself could I be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would surprise no one- no one who knew him, anyway, and that was a vanishingly small group- that some of the times Kaz disappeared, he simply went up to one of the many hidden spaces in the building, to gather his thoughts, craft plans, or eavesdrop.
> 
> _Kaz overhears and overthinks._

Kaz had carefully established his own, utterly irregular hours. Some times he was more likely to be around than others, and if he made actual plans he was punctual, but otherwise he drifted in and out of the Crow Club like a ghost in a grey wool coat. Being on the first floor was handy; he had, more than once, simply gone out the window. Many didn’t see past his limp and discounted the possibility of the route, and Dirtyhands was accorded one more power.

It would surprise no one- no one who knew him, anyway, and that was a vanishingly small group- that some of the times Kaz disappeared, he simply went up to one of the many hidden spaces in the building, to gather his thoughts, craft plans, or eavesdrop.

One evening, tucked into an alcove with a bench that Inej had favored and was thus usually ignored, Kaz sat, twirling a tiny knife through his bare fingers. He was practicing leaving his gloves off, sometimes. Never around people; only times like now, when he was planning the next steps in a long con, when no one was near him. 

The voices of a few of the Dregs floated around the corner; Inej had favored this corner for that quirk or architecture that carried noises neatly up the stairs.

“I’m telling you, he’s different now that the Wraith’s gone,” a girl’s voice said confidently. “I remember him before she showed up, and he used to be more like this. The first into the brawl, and usually the one ending it, too.”

Another’s girl’s voice scoffed. “Shut your mouth, Tippi, he’s the same bastard he’s always been. Mayhap harder, but still sharp as his knives.”

The first girl’s voice was insistent. “No, I ain’t saying he’s stupid without her. It’s like he’s two people, like sometimes he runs hard and hot like he was before all this, back when Pekka was in charge, and sometimes he’s so cold, like ice, you know? I don’t know which one’s scarier, but he’s the smartest one of all of us. Makes me miss the Wraith, though. She was good for him.”

Kaz could feel his shoulders tensing, his grip tightening. How dare they speak of Inej like that. Like she was just an accessory to him. The little whisper in his head told him they were right, though. He was better when Inej was there.

 _I don’t deserve her,_ he thought back fiercely. _She’s not for me to have. She’s her own person._

 _Doesn’t mean you don’t miss her,_ crooned the voice. _Doesn’t mean you don’t look for her in the windows, around corners, on rooftops...._

He threw the knife, quick and hard, embedding it into the wall. The voices continued, unaware of the turmoil above them.

“Hush, the both of ye,” Etro’s voice broke in. “He’s the Bastard, right? The Barrel’s true-born son? He wouldn’t take kindly to the likes of you gossiping about him like that.”

Tippi and the other girl- her name, her name- both laughed at him. 

“What do you know, new boy?” Tippi asked. “We’ve been here longer than you, and we’re from here. No Zemeni could understand him like we do.”

Etro laughed, a small, scornful sound. “Bastard boys know each other better than girls like you, with your airs and graces.”

Kaz hadn’t been born a bastard; what did Etro know? 

_But you were born a bastard, birthed from the canals, dripping and ready to brawl. You were born here, from these waters, from this pain. You are the Bastard of the Barrel, Kerch’s trueborn son._ And the whisper was right, and Kaz knew it.

And Etro did know. “You said you knew him before he was in charge, before he was a legend. But your mistake is that you think he’s someone separate from the legend. Bastard boys, we create ourselves, we craft our legends and slip them on like new skins. He’s not anyone separate from the Bastard. He’s been Dirtyhands so long he doesn’t have anyone else left in him. And you, Tippi, and you, Sweet Ivette, what do you know of that?”

Sweet Ivette’s voice was colder, now. “And what does a boy know of being made and unmade to suit a master, a city, a man, a bed? Girls know plenty about crafting a person and becoming her, thanks.”

The scraping of chairs and rustle of skirts; Tippi and Sweet Ivette were leaving now. Kaz leaned back against the wall. He looked down at his bare hands, the knife in the wall. Heard Swann and Kion join Etro at the table below, begin spinning tales. 

The voice in his head, the hard one that always told the truth, sounded more like Inej, now.

_You made yourself into the Bastard of the Barrel, Kaz, but you can change who that is, what that means. You crafted the legend; you can reshape it. You can reshape yourself._

_How?_ he wanted to ask, but she wasn’t there. She was off somewhere, sailing proud and free, _Your Wraith. Your Wraith,_ still. How could he change? 

_That’s up to you,_ his own voice said. _You just have to try._

 _I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker._ He breathed deeply, reached for the knife still in the wall. 

_Without armor. Your Wraith._

Kaz got up, picked up his cane. He needed fresh air. He needed to leave this building, with its gossip and its ghosts.

He would go for a walk. Down to the waterfront, perhaps. Maybe knock on Wylan’s door. 

_Without armor. Your Wraith._

He walked a little faster, as though it would help him outdistance the voices in his head. He didn’t even realize his hands were still bare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Kaz didn't want to show up, but it was his turn. We'll see more of him soon.
> 
> Tippi and Sweet Ivette, along with Etro, are my own; not enough female Dregs? I'll invent some. 
> 
> Kudos and comments fuel the production of this little world. Thank you, thank you, thank you.


	9. I prayed my mind be good to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaz’s eyes darted around, cataloging everything in seconds, panic honing his mind.
> 
> _There's something wrong with Kaz, and he doesn't know what. He turns to an old friend for- what? He doesn't know that, either._

Kaz hadn’t even made it to the end of the street before he realized he’d left his gloves off, his cane shifting in his suddenly sweaty palm. He felt his breath catch in his throat, which was closing up; he could not decide whether to freeze or to run.

Kaz’s eyes darted around, cataloging everything in seconds, panic honing his mind, and he slipped down an alley, cut across the next street, and lunged for the safety of a small, dark space- the root cellar of a tavern, which he and Inej had used on various occasions as a hideout or meeting point.

The door slamming above him, Kaz gave in to the panic clawing at his throat. He fell, gasping for breath, onto a wooden crate. Groping for his gloves, which never left his person even when they weren’t being worn, he felt light headed, unable to stop feeling the cane against his hand. He scrubbed his hand against his leg, trying to feel anything else but that, and his mind was trapped, running in endless circles. 

Kaz didn’t know how long he sat in that root cellar, breath rattling desperately in his lungs, voices echoing in his head. He sat, trying to get ahold of himself, as he hastily pulled on his gloves, flexing his fingers in the familiar leather, opening and closing his fists. The only silver lining he could see was that no one had witnessed his moment of weakness; he had been alone, as he always was, and few knew about the root cellar.

Eventually, having managed to regain some semblance of self possession, Kaz stood, brushing himself off and hoping the flush of his cheeks was cooling. He was furious with himself for losing control, but also scared- how could he have forgotten to put his gloves back on? What if he did it again? What if someone saw?

Inej had seen, and had not said anything; he felt her absence like an aching hole in his chest. He rubbed his face, trying to banish such thoughts. He focused on his breathing, evening it out, filling his lungs to their greatest capacity. He knew he had to leave soon; this was not a long-term hiding place.

Slipping back out of the alleyway and back along the canal, Kaz let his feet go where they wished. They led him, unerring, to the door of Wylan’s father’s house. Just Wylan’s house, now, of course; Kaz looking uncomprehendingly at the front door, the shiny knocker. His stray thought of going to see Wylan had apparently born fruit.

The door swung open without Kaz having to knock; a pert young girl looked up at Kaz, eyes flicking over his hair, his coat, his gloves, his cane. He stared back at her. He hadn’t realized he hadn’t spoken a word yet this day until he went to greet the maid, announce his name, something, and nothing had come out.

“You must be Dirtyhands, then,” she said, with a slight lisp. “Master Wylan said if you ever turned up you’d be welcome. So welcome, then.” She stepped aside and gestured for Kaz to come in. He did.

“If you’ll wait here, I’ll go announce you,” she said. “Shall I take your coat?”

Kaz shrugged it off, handing it over, still in silence. 

“I’ll be back for you shortly. Sit if you like,” she said, rustling off.

Settling onto the upholstered bench, Kaz tried to sort through the tangled threads of his thoughts, to regain some of his usual composure. What was wrong with him today?

“Kaz?” Wylan’s voice echoed down the hall. He came around the corner, his face breaking into a smile. “Kaz! It’s been so long! What brings you around here?”

Kaz lurched to his feet, turning to stare at Wylan. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The panic was rising up like bile in his throat again. _What was wrong with him?_

“Kaz?” Wylan’s voice was worried. His hand reached out to gently touch Kaz’s shoulder. “Why don’t you come sit down. My cook makes excellent waffles, we can have lunch.” Gesturing behind his back to the maid, who left for the kitchen, Wylan guided Kaz down the hall and through to a sitting room with the lightest of touches at his elbow.

“I…” Kaz felt his voice, dry from disuse, trail off into thin air. Wylan shook his head. 

“Kaz, there’s obviously something wrong, or you wouldn’t be here. Take your time. Lizbet will bring us something to drink. Shall I have someone let Jesper know you’re here?”

Kaz shook his head, not wanting Jesper to see him in such an unbalanced state. Wylan’s mouth quirked on one side, not quite a smile.

“Alright, then. He’s out for the day, but he’ll be back for dinner, if you’d like to stay. Ah, thank you, Lizbet, right here is fine.”

Wylan poured them both cups of rich, unwatered fruit juice. “I don’t know what brings you here today, Kaz, but I’ll help you if I can.”

Kaz took a compulsive sip of his juice, barely tasting its rich flavor. “Thank you,” he said. 

Wylan smiled, a proper smile this time. “Sure, Kaz,” he said. “That’s what friends do.”

Kaz, who had perhaps forgotten what it was to have friends- real friends, not employees, not underlings, not tools- was shocked to find his eyes threatening to fill with tears. What on earth was wrong with him?

“Oh, Kaz,” Wylan said over his cup. “You do still have some friends in Ketterdam, you know. Inej isn’t the only person in the world who cares about you.”

And neither boy made any move to acknowledge the tears slipping slowly down Kaz’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the short-ish chapter! I'll try to get more up within the week. I'll be updating regularly once a week, and sometimes more often, if the muse strikes. But once a week, for sure! I hope you all continue to enjoy as I put our favorite kids through hell.


End file.
